This Girl
by kelcb26
Summary: What if Pacey and Joey had remained 'just friends' after their roadside kiss? An alternate take on Season 4 and beyond. PJ.


_**A/N: **This is another piece previously posted here that I took down due to the rule of no lyrics in stories. After re-reading, I think (and hope) it can stand alone without them. I got this idea while listening to Tori Amos' 'Sleeps With Butterflies', in case you're interested in looking them up on your own (originally, I had them posted at the beginning of this story). Another game of 'what if?', I guess, with a twisting up of season four. What if nothing happened after Joey and Pacey kissed on the side of the road? _

_If you're reading this for the second time, or only just found it, I hope you enjoy. This is another one I had a great time writing. Thanks for reading!_

_**This Girl**_

I'm not that kind of girl.

I can't be, because that kind of girl wouldn't be standing here all alone, like this girl is.

Like I am.

I watch as the airplane taxis down the runway, picking up speed until flight 783 to L.A. hoists itself into the air and disappears from sight. I'm squinting as I look out the big glass window, and I tell myself it's to ward off the sun's glare, not to hold in the tears that are threatening to fall.

I can't help but wonder if you're having regrets about last night.

I'm not, but then I never have any when it comes to our 'Last Nights'.

How many have we had now?

I'd like to say too many to count, but as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as too many when it comes to nights spent with you, just as there's no such thing as too much when it comes to time with you.

You know, I don't really like the term 'Last Night', because to me, it sounds too final. I know it's used to signify the night that came before, but the word 'last' kinda throws me off. It sounds like an ending, the last time we'll be together, but in all honesty, each time you leave me, I always fear it will be the last time that I see you. Just as I can't help but wonder each time if you might finally decide to stay, that we'll be together in every way, at last.

Ironically, that's how I felt that first night. It was almost like I had been holding my breath ever since that day in the market when we decided to be 'just friends'. I simply didn't know it until I was kissing you, and sighing in joyous relief, thinking _At last_. A year is a long time to hold one's breath, but when that release finally came, it brought more freedom than I'd ever known.

But just as quickly as that moment _finally_ came, it was over. And I guess that's the thing about 'Firsts' and 'Lasts'. You can't have one without the other; for every first, there is a last, and vice versa.

We've certainly had our share of both, some more monumental than others. But yesterday, well, I think we might've topped them all.

You told me you're in love with me, for the first time after all these years, but I think that will be the last time I'll ever hear it.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who gets to be loved by a man like you.

This girl doesn't know what love is.

Or at least I'm not supposed to.

All my life, I've been described as cynical, acerbic, caustic, biting, pointed, categorized by people who think they know me, but how can they really, when no one can even get near enough to discover the woman hidden beneath that scathing exterior. My edges are so razor sharp, my heart wrapped in layer upon layer of barbed wire, no one can get too close, and anyone who dares to, runs the risk of getting cut so deeply they'll be scarred for life.

At least that's the front I put up, for the reasons you'd expect, my ill-fated mother and the sins of my father, sharpening the defensive blades I wield on a regular basis. The problem is, some of these blades are double-edged, so that in wounding others, I also bleed.

I turn away from the window, swiping at one lone tear with the back of my hand, needing to get as far away from this airport as possible. It's full of too many painful goodbyes, but I have to remind myself of the hellos that came before all of our inevitable farewells, because those are some of the best memories I own.

Did you ever notice we're kinda like acrobats?

We flip-flop from first to last, hello to goodbye, so skillfully and effortlessly, contorting ourselves to fit any situation life throws at us, our routine perfected by years of practice. We tumble around each other, synchronizing for a few beats, gracefully coming together in flawless rhythm, somersaulting away before we can finish what we started.

Because once the acrobatics stop, where does that leave us?

I almost tripped last night.

Almost.

But I caught myself before I fell flat on my face.

You, on the other hand, didn't fair so well.

Where did those three little words come from?

I know I certainly didn't push you to say them.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who pushes without a safety net waiting to break the fall.

We've never had one of those, not for each other anyway.

This girl needs a safety net, and someone else has always filled that position.

Fear of falling, too far, too fast, and never stopping, has kept me from pushing either of us anywhere, and you've always seemed okay with that. You've been just as complacent with our relationship, content to never make it more than it is, at least that's what I always thought.

_'I love you, Joey'_ is a pretty big shove, don't you think?

I mean, you could've at least given me some warning.

I could've outdone you, you know.

I had _two words_ for you that probably would've knocked you on your ass, but after your attempt to steamroll me, I could barely regain my footing, let alone toss anything in your direction.

Which also means I didn't return the sentiment, but that's not because I didn't try. I gasped and sighed, sputtered and stuttered, and probably made every unintelligible sound known to man before you silenced my struggle with a simple finger to my lips.

Then your lips were simply on mine and we were simply tumbling into bed.

Things are only complicated if you make them that way.

You said that to me once, on that first night almost ten years ago, and ever since then, I think it's been our personal mantra.

But we did complicate things, right from the first moment, we just chose to believe otherwise.

It all started with five words, that night.

_I'm a high school graduate._

We had just come from a graduation party, so I guess it was only fitting. I went to that party with Dawson, but I left with you. We were sitting on the deck of the _True Love_, our feet dangling over the edge, the dark blue waters below us, and a blanket of stars above, and you turned to me and shared the good news that you would be receiving your diploma with the rest of us the next day. One minute we were talking about how quickly the year had flown by, and the next I was hugging you because you were going to graduate.

Then I was kissing you.

I'd always wanted you to kiss me again, since that _sudden, momentary and fleeting impulse_ when you didn't want to talk anymore, but that was the first, and last time you shut me up that way.

Welcome to Capeside, Welcome to Denial.

I'd often wondered what would've happened had we not gone back, if we would've gotten into the Witter Wagoneer and went anywhere but Capeside, someplace where there were no _monumental implications_ or _ripple effects_, a place where Soul Mates didn't exist and Mortal Enemies found True Love.

But we had to go back, and that was one time I actually did push you, not _to_ me, but away from me. I put my hands to your chest and shoved, hurtling you right past the Welcome to Capeside sign, out of the fantasy and back into reality. Or at least I thought that's what I was doing.

The truth was, we'd crossed the line between fantasy and reality long before that, and returning to Capeside didn't mean we could go back to the way things were. Once again, I'd confused the two opposing states of mind, refusing to accept what was real, hiding behind what wasn't.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who's brave enough to reject the security of fantasy, and embrace the unknown world of reality.

This girl is a coward.

But not all the time.

And when you didn't kiss me again, when we went back to 'being friends', when an entire year passed as if nothing ever happened, I guess I finally figured it out…what a mistake I'd made by being a coward.

The question was, what was I going to do about, where would I find the courage to make things right?

I thought by doing nothing, everyone would be better off, but by everyone I really meant Dawson.

I thought I was making a choice, choosing myself, finally giving myself a chance to find out who this girl was without the presence of the two boys who'd defined her very existence for so long. And in a way, I guess that's what I did.

I might've pushed you away, but I didn't run back to Dawson.

And eventually, he moved on. Or maybe I should say he realized he never should've moved at all. Away from Jen, that is. They were back together by the beginning of our senior year, and I found myself…strangely okay with it.

What I wasn't okay with was the myriad of girls you chased after.

While I was off discovering myself, you were discovering the entire female population of Capeside High.

Alright, so maybe I'm exaggerating a _tiny_ bit.

You didn't really date anyone, but I saw that look you gave Leslie Morano, that blond bimbo cheerleader, in the cafeteria on the first day of our last year at Capeside High, and don't think I didn't. I know what you were thinking, just as I did with every other girl I was sure you were looking at, every girl that wasn't me.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind that men can't take their eyes off of.

This girl is invisible.

So why were you always able to see me?

_**-x-x-x-**_

I'm in my car now, driving home, and I glance in the rearview mirror as I change lanes, half expecting to catch a flash of blue gazing at me from the backseat. Because you've always been there, just over my shoulder, leaning down to whisper in my ear, even when I didn't want to glance back, when I refused to listen. I could close my eyes, put blinders up, and turn a deaf ear, but it didn't matter.

And that's what I found when I looked within, when I held up that mirror to my soul, there you were right behind me, waiting for me to look over my shoulder and notice you.

When I went in search of myself, I found you.

At first I thought that was pretty pathetic. Here I was, trying desperately to be independent, to live without the _company of men_, and all I kept doing was looking back at you, unable to shake you.

And that pissed me off. A lot.

I was furious with myself, and you, because I couldn't figure out what it all meant.

Until one day, I really did look up into my mirror to find you standing behind me.

It was our senior prom. Jen was going with Dawson. Jack was taking his new beau, Tobey, and you and I...were conveniently without significant others. Of course, we played it off as no big deal. We were keeping our options open, waiting for the right offer, playing the field. And besides, it was the prom, and who really wants to go to the prom?

But I did, I wanted to go, if only for the slim chance that I might get to dance with you  
again. We hadn't since Penny Pretty and the Starlight, and I couldn't let go of the feeling that dance was left unfinished.

But I couldn't ask you.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who goes after what she wants.

This girl lets opportunities pass her by.

And, I knew that you would ask me, eventually.

You came by just a few days before the 'big event'. I was in my room with Bessie, standing in front of my vanity while she shoved straight pins in my lavender dress, the one I was going to wear when I went stag to my senior prom (and I thought I was pathetic before…). She left suddenly, remembering she had to go pick up Alexander, and I just stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, feeling like a fool. I remember dropping my head, unable to face what I saw in the reflection staring back at me, and that's why I didn't see you come in.

I didn't hear you, didn't know you were even there until your hands were on my bare shoulders and you were leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"You look radiant, Joey."

I froze, momentarily caught off guard by your presence, and your words. I bowed my head further, my chin almost touching my chest, my shoulders sagging self-consciously, and I disagreed with you, saying that I looked silly.

I thought you would back away, making some smartass comment, and we'd just fall into our patented banter, as usual. But you didn't back away, if anything, you got closer, while my knees went weak as you slid your hand along my collarbone and up under my chin, gently lifting my head, forcing me to look in the mirror. I tried to look away, but you wouldn't let me, catching my gaze and holding it.

"See? Radiant," you said softly, "that's what I see when I look at you. And now you need to see it too."

And I did. I saw myself through your eyes, and I never felt more beautiful.

It was then that I realized what it all meant, why you were always there, standing behind me. It wasn't because I couldn't stand on my own, or that I wasn't capable of taking care of myself. I'd already proven I was a survivor, but I'd gotten so good at it, _too_ good, with my barbed wire and razor sharp edges, that I'd lost sight of the girl hidden behind all that protection, but you never did. And you were the only one brave enough, the only one who could get close enough to whisper in my ear and remind me she was still there, to lift my head and show her to me, and not let me look away.

I didn't need to 'find myself' because I was there all along, and anytime I forget that, all I need to do is look over my shoulder. I know you'll be there, waiting to whisper in my ear and remind me.

I started to look back at you that day, wanting to tell you I finally got it, but you released me before I could, turning and walking away, only stopping to throw back over your shoulder, "I'll pick you up at six on Friday, Potter. Don't be late. Oh, and one more thing," you said, whirling around, placing your hands on the doorframe, "make sure you take those straight pins out of the dress, Jo. Those things are dangerous, and I don't wanna prick my finger when I'm trying to cop a feel, if you know what I mean."

You waggled your eyebrows at me suggestively, and just like that, the moment was gone; we were back to our regularly scheduled programming, and I was scowling and flinging my hairbrush at you. You darted away just in time, or else you would've had a black eye for our prom picture.

We danced every slow dance.

You wouldn't even let Jack or Dawson cut in, teasing that I was an expensive date and you wanted to get your money's worth, but I knew the real reason you weren't willing to share. You knew we hadn't finished our dance either, and that's why you didn't let me go all night.

Despite our endless dancing, things still felt unfinished.

We attended the after party.

It was supposed to be alcohol free, but we all knew Jen would smuggle some in, and that Dawson would pout about it, until Jen lightened him up in the way that only she could. I got a little tipsy, trying to prove to you that I could hold my liquor, only proving that once again, you were right, when I couldn't even walk to your car. You had to carry me, and we bickered the entire time.

Despite our endless bickering, things still felt unfinished.

We sat up talking all night long.

I thought you were going to drive me home, but we ended up at the beach instead. We sat on the sand with our shoes off, the tide coming in, lapping at our toes. I was shivering, and you put your jacket around my shoulders to keep me warm. I finally sobered up, and we couldn't stop talking, our conversation ending only when the sunrise announced our senior prom was officially over.

Despite our endless talking, things still felt unfinished.

We had a wonderful time.

That's what we both agreed when you walked me to my door, and it wasn't some standard, mandatory line you're supposed to give at the end of an evening; we both meant it. I smiled shyly up at you as you took my hands in yours, my heart fluttering in my chest, because I knew it was coming, the moment I'd been waiting for, the perfect ending to our perfect evening. You leaned down towards me and my eyes slipped shut, my breath catching in my throat as I felt you get closer and closer, until finally your lips were on my…forehead.

Yep, that's right. My forehead. You kissed me on my freaking forehead! I couldn't believe it either.

Where in the hell was the _endless kissing_ that was supposed to finish off our fairy tale evening! We danced, we bickered, we talked…and despite all that, we weren't finished! Remember? We were **supposed** to **kiss** to _finish things off_.

You left then. You pulled your hands from mine and walked away without so much as a backward glance, leaving me standing there, dumbfounded, heartbroken and mad as hell. I wanted to chase after you, grab you and shake you, demand to know why you were just leaving like this. How could you leave things unfinished!

But I didn't, and we all know why.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who demands answers and finishes what she starts.

This girl doesn't get the happy ending.

Not that easily anyway, not without a fight.

And I wasn't about to give up without a fight.

After I recovered from the initial shock of your blatant disregard for my feelings, and my very kissable lips, I might add, I knew what I had to do.

I pushed you away once.

The second time I let you walk away.

But the third time…well you know what they say about the third time, and I was determined to make that old adage ring true.

It took me a few days to prepare my game plan. You were good, so I had to be better. After much careful thought and hours upon hours of brainstorming and strategizing, I decided the best way to get what I wanted…

…was to just go get it.

It would be as simple as that. I would employ the element of surprise, and you would never know what hit you.

In the meantime, I was the very picture of nonchalance and innocence. I'd pass you in the hall at school, offer you a calm smile and nod, acting as if nothing had changed, that I wasn't angry or regretful at all about how we left things. You didn't really seem to be either, which only served to make me angrier and more determined. And I was convinced you were none the wiser about what I had planned.

I saw the graduation party as the opportunity I had been waiting for. Dawson went off in search of Jen, and I scanned the crowd for you. I told myself once I found you, I was just going to go up to you, grab you by the hand, and _make_ you take a walk with me on the beach. Then I was going to _make_ you kiss me, or better yet, _I_ was going to kiss _you_.

I finally spotted you, and I began making my way through the crowd in your direction, a woman with a purpose, not letting anything stand in the way of what I wanted.

And what I wanted was you.

Joey Potter wanted Pacey Witter, and she was going to get him.

Or I would've, had you not been talking to Andie.

When did she get back from Italy, and why was she touching your arm like that? More importantly, why were you _letting_ her touch your arm?

Not that I don't like Andie, but she's your ex-girlfriend, and could've very well put a wrench in my perfectly calculated scheme.

So I halted my advance, ready to retreat to some dark corner to regroup, but then Andie spotted me, and was squealing and flinging herself in my direction. In true Andie fashion, she started going on and on about Europe, and graduation, and how good it was to be back. By the time she stopped for a breath, you had taken off for parts unknown, and I was beginning to think my whole brilliant plan was going to be a bust.

Then I heard it, coming from somewhere behind me, that high-pitched cackle that made my skin crawl and my blood boil, the most annoying sound I'd ever heard wrapped up in a laugh that belonged to none other than Leslie Morano.

I didn't have to turn around to know who was making her laugh, but I did anyway.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who knows when to give up and walk away.

This girl is a masochist, who just keeps coming back for more.

She was draped all over you, laughing uncontrollably while she clutched at your shirt, practically falling into you just so she could press herself against you. She kept screeching your name, saying how funny you were, and you had your hands splayed around her waist, holding her up while you joined in her laughter.

I, on the other hand, didn't find anything funny at all.

I really wished someone would've let me in on the joke though, because I could've used a good laugh right about then.

My first reaction was to turn green with envy, my jealous streak flashing through me like a bolt of lightening that propelled me forward, ready to strike. I was going to go over there and put that bitch in her place. Who did she think she was, shamelessly throwing herself at you like that? Didn't she know that you were…that you were…

You weren't mine.

That grim realization was enough to stop me dead in my tracks. I had no more claim over you than she did, and no one to thank but myself for that sad fact.

I had my chance with you, and I blew it.

I wanted you, but you didn't want me.

It wasn't until I tasted the salt from my tears, dripping down onto my lips, that I realized I was crying. I was crying for something I never got to have, mourning the loss of someone who never belonged to me in the first place, but my tears were real, and they were for you. I just couldn't let you see them.

I knew I should look away before you noticed me, but I waited just a split second too long, and you caught sight of me. You were still laughing with her, but your eyes locked on mine, searching and probing, interrogating me with just a simple gaze. You wanted to know what was wrong, and I gave too much away. How could I not? It was written all over my face in tear drops. You followed the tracks of my tears that led to a mouth full of love unspoken, and trailed down to a heart that was breaking, heavy with regret and what could have been.

I panicked, fleeing the scene, quickly running inside, not knowing where else to go. I thought you would be right behind me, but you didn't chase after me, because you were done with that. You were a long time ago, and I needed to come to terms with it.

I found the nearest table and sat down in a daze, unsure of what to do next. I was glad that none of our group seemed to be around anywhere to ask me what was wrong, because I honestly had no idea how I would answer. How could I be so distraught over something that had never been, and was never meant to be?

I cried until I ran out of tears, finally composing myself enough to remove my face from my hands, propping my chin up on my open palm, trying to hold my head high and act as if nothing was wrong. I wanted to go home, but I couldn't move. It still felt like I had something to wait for, but for what, I wasn't sure, because you and I were definitely over, before we even began. Finished before we even got started.

I felt your eyes on me before I saw you.

I slowly turned my head to find you standing in the screen door, watching me. You hesitated a beat before pulling the door open, stepping inside and walking a few feet forward before coming to a stop, as if you were waiting for something…or someone.

I stood on shaky legs, and somehow managed to go to you, terrified once I got there that I wasn't the one you'd been waiting for. You smiled at me, the corners of your mouth just barely turning up, revealing nothing, and I couldn't read your eyes either.

I spoke first.

"My mom wrote me a letter," I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. Even though it had nothing to do with us, you were still the only person I could talk to about it, and I didn't realize I needed to until I was standing in front of you.

I paused, waiting for your reaction, but all you did was nod, encouraging me to continue, because you understood there was no response you could give to a statement like that.

"I…I haven't opened it yet…I can't."

"Why not?"

I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of my jeans and shrugged. "I've tried…but every time I go to open it…I just…I remember what she was like at the end…so still…and so much pain and suffering…"

A tear slipped down my cheek and I let it. I was an emotional mess, and it was no use to even try to stop it. "How terrible is that? I try to remember all the good things…before she was sick, and all I can remember is how badly it ended."

I knew then that I wasn't just talking about my mom's unhappy ending.

"Everything's coming to an end, Pacey…I mean none of us knows what's really going to happen after tomorrow. We all seem to be going in such different directions, and who knows if we'll ever see each other again…" My voice broke with emotion, because what I really wanted to say was I didn't know if I would ever see _you_ again. I'd had that inexplicable fear for weeks, I just didn't want to admit it. Your future was the most uncertain of us all. "I don't want only bad memories to take with me. This isn't…it's not how I want things to end…"

"Hey, Potter," you interrupted me, "you know, I own a sailboat."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Yeah," I said slowly.

And then you asked me, the question I'd been waiting a year to hear.

"So, what if I were to ask you to go sailing, what would you say?"

_True Love_ had been seaworthy since last spring, but I'd had yet to set foot on the finished product. After the disaster of our roadside kiss, it was like you shut me out of that part of your life, and I can't say that I blamed you. You sailed off alone for the summer, and when you came back, you took everyone out on your boat.

Everyone…but me.

You just never asked, and I was far too proud and stubborn to find out why.

But really, you didn't even have to ask, and that's what I told you.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who needs an invitation to True Love.

This girl had already found it.

_**-x-x-x-**_

Carousels.

I've never really given them much thought before, but they're quite contradictory. As a child, they give you the allure of freedom, enticing you with lively music and smiling horses, brightly painted with every color of the rainbow, looking as if they're ready to take off and gallop away to anywhere you wish.

My perspective has changed drastically, now that I'm an adult, sitting here watching one go round and round, in an endless circle. Because that's all that happens. The promise of freedom is just a childhood illusion you outgrow when you realize you're not getting anywhere. The horses bob up and down, but are forever stuck in one place, and no amount of imagination will change that.

When we were kids and the carnival came to Capeside, Dawson would make up stories about where the carousel horses would take us, and the adventures we would have. You and I would listen intently to the tales he wove, _oohing_ and _ahhing_ at all the right moments, happy to get lost in Dawson's fantasy, at least for a little while. But I think we both knew that some day we'd outgrow the fantasy, and maybe we'd already started to, even as we were still running to those horses to take a ride.

I'm not sure why I stopped here.

I saw the lights from the highway, and before I knew what I was doing, I was getting off the exit. I'm just a half an hour away from Capeside, it's nearly dark, and I'm exhausted, but the pull to the carnival in this little town was just too strong.

Just like that bizarre, gravitational pull that always exists between us.

It was there the night you took me sailing, and it's only grown stronger since. I was always too afraid to try and define it, but I'm thinking now love might be a good word for it.

I lied.

I do have a regret, just one (or maybe two), about last night.

You deserve to know.

But maybe you already do, about all of it.

When you were inside of me, when I was giving myself to you completely, body, mind, heart and soul, over and over again, it was all there, laid bare before you, just as I was.

Did you see it, did you feel it?

Do you know?

I couldn't tell you.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who can say what's in her heart.

But I'm yours. I always have been.

This girl has always been in love with you.

When I finally got to come aboard _True Love_, I had to ask permission first, but I expected that. It wasn't because you were playing hard to get, wanting me to work for you, although I knew there was some of that going on too. But I think it was more about us coming full circle. I know when you reached your hand out to me, and I took it, taking that first step onto the deck, I felt whole for the first time in my life.

We weren't very far from shore when you dropped anchor, just far enough that I felt safe, detached from the memories of my dying mother I couldn't escape on land. I'm still amazed at how well you know me, that you knew that's what I needed.

You were going to go below deck to give me some privacy while I read my letter, but I made you stay. I even tried to beg it off on you, pleading with you to read it for me, but you refused, instead sitting quietly beside me with silent support as I opened it.

My hands were shaking as I unfolded the paper to reveal my mother's final words for me, and I couldn't stop myself from bringing it up to my nose, breathing in its scent, _her_ scent. I might've been imagining it was still there, but I could smell it, and just like that, all those good memories came flooding back.

You didn't look over my shoulder as I read; this was one time you took a step back, opting to stare down into the water, waiting patiently for me to finish. The moon was full, the only light I had to guide me over the page that contained the wisdom only a mother could offer. She knew this girl, better than anyone, with the exception of one person.

Remember when I told you there were only two people in my life who ever really knew me, Dawson and you? I was wrong. I should've said my mother and you.

Dawson didn't know me, not anymore. He might've at one time, when we were kids, in that very basic, childlike way, an innocent familiarity of favorite colors and foods, likes and dislikes, and _'Remember that time when…'_. But he lost sight of me a long time ago. If I had to put my finger on when that happened, I'd have to say it was when my mom passed away. I mean, he was there for me, he stood by me and got me through the worst time in my life, but after that, I don't think he knew what to do. I had to grow up very fast, I lost my innocence, and Dawson couldn't handle that. We both know he rejects the whole idea of growing up, and even though I had no choice in the matter, I think he was kind of mad at me that I did. He wanted to keep me forever young, and that's why he refused to see the woman this girl was becoming.

But not you, you never lost sight of me, following me through all the changes, always staying one or two steps behind.

Just over my shoulder.

Just in case I needed you.

I didn't cry as I read my mother's letter. I held my breath the whole way through, only exhaling when I got to the end, a small shaky whimper coming out with it, and I reached for your hand. It was right there for me to take, and I intertwined my fingers through yours. You held my hand as I dropped the letter into the ocean, and we watched in silence as it drifted a little through the water, soaking it up, before sinking, disappearing into the blue depths. I didn't need to hold on to it to remember.

Neither one of us said anything for a long time, just content to be there together, holding hands. Gradually we started making small talk, about the party, and Andie's return, and how it was all going to be over soon.

Then you made your announcement, those five words.

I'd never been happier for you, and I threw my arms around your neck, telling you how proud I was. You did it all by yourself, _for_ yourself, and I never doubted for a minute that you could.

Once I was in your arms, I couldn't move, or rather I didn't _want_ to. And you didn't exactly make a move to let me go. I rested my head on your shoulder, burying my face in the crook of your neck, and just allowed you to hold me.

Everything happened as if it were in slow motion, instead of the grand, surprise explosion I'd envisioned. When love found us, it came quietly, softly, and without fanfare. I just pulled back, took your face in my hands, and kissed you as if it was something I was always meant to do. That's not to say that it wasn't passionate, or powerful, in fact, maybe it was more so because of its simplicity.

It was what it was, and neither one of us could deny it.

We were finally doing what our hearts had wanted to for so long, and there were no interruptions; no one pushed, or walked away.

There was no doubt in my mind when I broke the kiss and stood, offering you my hand. You didn't hesitate to accept, letting me lead you down into the cabin.

I don't think we said another word, not out loud anyway.

Our actions said everything we couldn't; communicating through our eyes, loving with our bodies, and speaking with our hearts, we became one.

When it was over, you told me what I already knew.

You were leaving.

You had an opportunity to crew on a boat for the summer, and you were going.

The next day.

And you didn't know when, or if, you were coming back.

_Things are only complicated if you make them that way._

We were seventeen then, and now we're almost twenty-seven.

We've been acrobats for a long time, but I always thought I was the one who was more settled. No matter where I was, you always seemed to find me. Most of the time without warning, but sometimes we actually planned it, like the time we met in Paris.

I know there were other girls over the years, and I wasn't lonely either, but no one was ever able to reach the place within me that you did. They didn't even come close.

Surprisingly, I wasn't threatened by the other women, even though normally I would've been, as I'm sure they were everything I'm not.

I have the one thing I know they could never possess.

Your heart.

No matter how many times I've said good bye to you, and let you go, you never take it with you. It always stays with me, and I've never lost hope that you would come back home to claim it one day.

You can't really live without it, so I believe that makes it worth coming home for.

I believe _I'm_ worth coming home to.

That's why I let you go. I knew I had to.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind that holds on to the tail of your kite.

This girl lets you fly, believing that you'll come home one day.

I thought that's what I was doing, but now I'm not sure.

Everything's mixed up, so that I don't know who's holding on, and who's letting go anymore.

You stopped drifting two years ago.

You picked up various skills in your travels, but found your niche in the culinary arts and dreamed of opening your own place someday.

When Dawson offered you a chance to make that dream come true, how could you refuse? He was living his dream in LA, and I guess he figured you should get the chance to do that too. He's a silent partner in the successful waterfront restaurant you now own and operate.

In Los Angeles.

I live in Capeside.

After I graduated from college, I worked as a copy editor in New York, but after awhile, I got tired of watching other people's work get published, just as you predicted I would. My first book was published a little over a year ago, and I'm currently working on my second. I moved back to Capeside under the pretense of the solitude it could offer a writer.

But I could've found peace just as easily in LA with you.

You didn't ask me to. As I said before, we don't push each other. Even when you settled in one place, we fell easily into a no-strings-attached, long distance relationship, though neither one of us has been with anyone else for the past two years. There have been lots of long plane rides, from coast to coast, long weekends and long distance phone calls. There have also been many long good byes.

But we've never pushed for anything more.

If it isn't broke, then don't try to fix it, right?

For the past few minutes, I've been watching a little boy with brown wavy hair, and big brown eyes as he and his mother wait in a long line for a balloon. He's probably no more than seven years old, and he's been fidgeting impatiently, anxious to get his hands on one of the colorful, helium-filled spheres. I know he's going to let it go as soon as he gets it, because he has that look in his eyes.

It's the same one you used to get right before you let your balloon go.

You couldn't hold onto one, and you never tried to. You loved helium balloons for the sheer joy it brought you to release them. It never failed. No sooner would they place that balloon in your hands, then it would be sailing off up into the sky, and your face would light up, your eyes full of rapture as you watched it go.

It was the same with anything being held captive. Trips to the zoo were particularly unsettling for you, and you always used to come up with these crazy schemes to break out all the animals. You would never set foot in an animal shelter, and you always wanted to bring strays home with you. I think one time you even told me you wanted to help those carousel horses escape, because you already understood that they weren't free.

I remember in second grade, Dawson had this odd fascination with insects, and he used to try to catch as many as he could for his 'collection', especially butterflies. He would capture them in glass jars, and keep them there, eventually bringing about their demise so that he could put them in his scrapbook. They used to look like they were sleeping in those jars, barely moving, as if all the life had been sucked out of them, and all I wanted to do was wake them up and set them free. But I was never brave enough.

One day, Dawson caught three or four in the same jar, and he held it up proudly for us to see. It broke my heart to see them trapped, and I had to turn away. But you asked Dawson if you could have a closer look. As soon as you got that jar in your hands, I caught a glimpse of that gleam in your eyes, and I knew exactly what you were going to do.

Dawson didn't speak to you for a week after that.

It was because of your natural propensity towards freedom that I convinced myself I was doing the right thing by letting you go. I assumed you didn't want to be tied down, or have any obligations. You had the need to be free, and I respected that.

That's why I was terrified to tell you the two words I didn't get a chance to say last night.

I'm pregnant.

I don't know how it happened.

I mean, I do know _how_ it happened, I'm just not sure why it did. We were careful. We took every precaution. I know when it comes to sex, nothing's guaranteed, but I just never thought I'd find myself in this position.

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

The kind who can be a mother.

This girl had her mother taken from her, and now she's afraid she doesn't know how to be one.

But I'm going to be one, and you're going to be a father.

I think you already know that, even though you didn't hear those two words. We've already established you know me better than I know myself. I think maybe that's why you gave me those three words to chew on for awhile before I offered up my two.

I've always known that you love me, and you have to know I feel the same. We've just never said it before, letting fear rule our emotions.

Or maybe I was the one who did that.

The little boy just got his balloon…and now it's gone, disappearing into the night sky. He's smiling, even though his mother is scolding him.

Seeing this, I now know what a fool I've been.

All this time I thought it was me letting you go, that you needed to be set free, but I was wrong.

You're not the captive.

I am.

I'm the balloon that needs to be released, the caged animal, the carousel horse spinning in a never ending circle.

I'm the sleeping butterfly.

I've always felt like I was trapped, but even when I got out of Capeside, nothing changed, because it wasn't that small town that was keeping me prisoner.

I'm my own captor. 

I've been holding myself hostage, stuck between fantasy and reality, knowing that I can't go back to that magical time of innocence before my childhood was taken from me, but afraid to move forward to what's real. Because nothing in real life is certain, and I don't know if I can face what's out there, or if I'm ready to leave behind all that I've lost.

What if I forget, what if I can only remember the bad?

But I was able to let go of her letter, and I still remember every word.

And we've let each other go many times, but we've never forgotten.

Freedom doesn't mean that you have to forget where you came from; if anything, it just makes you appreciate it more.

You've been trying to set me free. But you don't want to rescue me. You know I have to find my own way, that I have to find the strength within myself to let go completely and be free once and for all. That's why you've never pushed. You've left me clues, led by example (you've 'taken the fall' for me more than a few times), and even gave me a few little nudges here and there (that kiss on the forehead was definitely one).

But last night, when you knew I needed it the most, you gave me a shove, making sure you pushed yourself first to show me everything would be alright.

I just have to trust in myself and you.

Now it's up to me to learn to fall without a net.

_**-x-x-x-**_

I'm getting ready to leave another airport.

But this time I didn't just say goodbye, and I'm not crying.

I'm waiting for you.

Because I've decided I _am_ that kind of girl.

The kind who can take a leap of faith without knowing where she'll land.

This girl is getting ready to fly.

And even if I don't get it right the first time, it won't matter. Because in spite of all my mistakes, in spite of all the things that this girl is, both good and bad, you love her anyway.

I feel like a dork standing here outside waiting for you with a bunch of balloons in my hand. I stopped at one of the gift shops and bought pink and blue ones, not wanting to be biased since we really don't know yet. Now I'm thinking maybe I went a little overboard, and I feel stupid. Maybe you won't even know what I'm trying to do.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I don't turn around. I know it's you.

You lean down and whisper in my ear, "I dare you to let them go."

I slowly turn around to face you, because I want you to be in front of me when I do this. You're my future now, and I have to put the past behind me.

I don't respond. I just smile, looking you in the eyes as I open my hand and all those balloons go soaring into the air.

Before I can say anything, you're sweeping me up in your arms and kissing me, whispering, "Welcome home, Potter."

And you're right.

This girl is home.

This girl is free.


End file.
